Matching Dementors
by Healer Pomfrey
Summary: Before a certain Quidditch match in Harry's third year, Minerva notices that Harry is sick and unable to play in the match. One broken Nimbus 2000 and one lost Quidditch match less? Just a stupid drabble


**Matching Dementors**

**by Healer Pomfrey**

_All recognizable characters belong to J. K. Rowling, and I am not earning anything by writing this story._

_I am not a native speaker of English. Please excuse my mistakes!_

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Warning: This is extremely stupid; however, my muse decided to write it when I woke up this morning somehow feeling unwell. Only read if you have nothing better to do ;-)  
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Minerva McGonagall was sitting at the Head table, observing her little lions, who were going to play Quidditch against Hufflepuff in two hours' time. '_Oh well, Harry has never lost a match so far_,' she thought proudly, letting her eyes wander to the Quidditch team members, who were all sitting together at the end of the table that was near the Head table. '_It won't be much fun to play on such a rainy day_,' she mused, absentmindedly taking a large sip of tea from her mug.

Minerva unconsciously let out a small gasp as she took in the Seeker's sickly appearance. As far as she could recognise from her seat, the boy's eyes were surrounded by dark rings, and he seemed extremely pale. She rose from her seat and walked behind the Gryffindor table, unobtrusively studying the boy's face. '_He is sick_,' she realised, taking in the beads of sweat that were threatening to drip down from his temples. His eyes that wearily looked at her when she spoke with the team and wished them good luck were feverishly glazed over, and his breathing sounded squeaking.

"Mr. Potter, please follow me for a moment," she addressed the third year and led him around the Head table to a small room adjacent to the Great Hall, which was only equipped with an old mahogany table and four chairs. Instructing the boy to take a seat, she gave him a sharp look. "Mr. Potter, are you ill?" she asked crisply.

"No, I'm fine, Professor," Harry replied, seemingly terrified. "I'm only excited because of the match."

Minerva leaned over and firmly placed her hand on the boy's forehead, noticing that it felt clammy but at the same time hot to the touch. She let out a long sigh, remembering how the child's father had once tried to play in a Quidditch match with a broken ankle. "Let me see how fine you are," she said kindly. Pulling a tissue out of her robe pocket, she easily transfigured it into an old Muggle thermometer and instructed the boy, "Open up."

"No." Harry jumped to his feet. "I'm fine. Professor, may I leave? I want to practise a bit before the match."

"No Mr. Potter. You may only leave if I have checked your temperature and deem you well enough," Minerva replied firmly.

"No," Harry replied stubbornly, stomping his foot on the ground. "I am fine, and I want to go and play Quidditch now like everyone else."

"Well Mr. Potter, you have the choice," Minerva said, slowly getting angry at the boy's behaviour. "You will either cease behaving like a five-year-old and let me take your temperature, or you will accompany me to the hospital wing for a check-up with Madam Pomfrey. Otherwise, you're not going to play Quidditch today."

Harry cast her a horrified look, before he finally gave in, apparently realising that his only chance to play on this dark December morning was to get over with it and hope that his fever was not too high for her to let him go. He grudgingly sat back on the chair and allowed her to place the glassy device under his tongue, and Minerva observed in concern how he shivered violently at the cold touch. '_He is definitely not going to play Quidditch today_,' she realised. A minute of silence passed, before the device beeped, and Minerva reached for the glassy stick.

As soon as she plucked it from his lips, he jumped up again and took a run for the door. "Mr. Potter," Minerva called him back angrily, glancing at the display of the thermometer. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Quidditch?" Harry supplied, casting her a hopeful look.

"No Mr. Potter. You are not going to play Quidditch with that fever you're running. I will take you to the hospital wing, and I am sure that Madam Pomfrey is going to keep you for a while."

"No, please Professor, let me go. I promise I won't come near anyone, and after the match I'll go and see Madam Pomfrey immediately," Harry began to beg.

Minerva shook her head in annoyance, knowing that the child had to feel miserable. "No Mr. Potter. You will not play Quidditch today, and that's my last word. Now will you come with me, or do I have to put you on a stretcher and stun you?"

Professor and student quietly left the small room, and Minerva sighed in relief upon noticing that Poppy was still sitting at the Head table. "Poppy, will you please take Mr. Potter with you?" she asked her friend and colleague, knowing that she had to urgently alert the Quidditch team that anyone else had to play Seeker today.

"Of course," Poppy replied gently, realising with a glance at Harry that the boy was in no condition to play Quidditch. "Come with me Mr. Potter."

"I'll follow you in a few minutes, Mr. Potter. Behave yourself," Minerva said sternly, glaring at the child, before she made a beeline for her House table, earning a huge groan from the Quidditch team at her news.

By the time she entered the hospital wing, preparing herself for a still ongoing fight between her little lion and the matron, she realised in surprised that Harry was fast asleep in the bed next to Poppy's office.

"He caught the grindylow flu," Poppy informed her. "The grindylow flu makes people behave very childish. Unfortunately, it is also extremely contagious, which is why I must keep you here in quarantine, considering that you touched him earlier."

"No way, Poppy," Minerva said, horrified at the news, especially since she knew that Poppy always used to win. "I need to watch the Quidditch match."

"Nothing prevents you from observing the match from the window here," Poppy replied dryly. "If you're still well tomorrow morning, you're free to leave."

Minerva glared at her friend; however, knowing that there was nothing she could do about it, she took a seat in front of the window and watched the Quidditch match together with Poppy. In Horror she observed how the Dementors descended onto the Quidditch pitch and how a few minutes later, the whole Gryffindor Quidditch team was lying on the ground, unmoving. "I need to see what's going on," Minerva said in an upset voice, heading for the door.

"No Minerva, I'll go. I'm sure they'll be fine," Poppy replied sternly, taking two dozen chocolate bars with her as she hurried outside.

For a few minutes, Minerva observed Poppy deal with her lions, sighing in relief when all of them seemed to be fine as they headed into the changing room. Suddenly noticing that her head was beginning to pound badly, Minerva lay down on the bed next to Harry in order to rest for a while.

When she woke up from a much needed nap, she noticed, terrified, that she felt extremely unwell. Not only her head, but also her eyes, ears, throat and chest were sore, and she felt very dizzy. She glanced around, seeing that Poppy was nowhere in sight; however, Harry was awake.

"Mr. Potter, where is Madam Pomfrey?" she asked weakly.

"She was called to the Hufflepuff common room," Harry replied in a hoarse voice. "She told me that you caught the grindylow flu from me. I'm sorry for getting you sick, Professor."

All of a sudden, the Weasley twins emerged from what seemed to be Harry's invisibility cloak. "Heya," they cheered. "We just wanted to inform you of the good news."

"Good news? Did you win the match?" Harry asked excitedly.

"No, but..."

"Messrs. Weasley, you better get out of here, before Madam Pomfrey catches you and puts you in quarantine as well," Minerva said sleepily, trying to search for a cold spot on her pillow.

"No problem, Professor..."

"... We put sneezing powder into the Hufflepuffs' drinks at lunch," the twins informed her.

"It'll take her a few minutes to sort all of them out."

"Three hundred points from Gryffindor," Minerva mumbled, shivering violently as the twins let out a collective gasp.

"Anyway, the Dementors came onto the Quidditch pitch, and our whole team decided to feign being too much affected by them to continue flying. Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey either bought it or took pity on us because you weren't able to play today, and she declared the whole team unfit to play," Fred explained.

"So the match is going to be repeated in two weeks' time," George added, grinning.

"One thousand points to Gryffindor and to Poppy," Minerva mumbled, and a small smile played on her lips as she drifted back into a much needed healing sleep, feeling very proud of her little lions.

**The End**


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